A Moment of Mercy
by MissScorp
Summary: Allowing Rick Grimes to survive that gunshot plunged the world into complete chaos. There's only one way now to restore the natural order and stop more of his family and friends dying. Is Death willing to pay the ultimate price for a moment of mercy, though? Written as part of the Writer's Anonymous 2018 Role-Reversal Challenge. One-shot. *Complete*


' _Oh, Death_

 _Won't you spare me over another year_?'

…

Rick Grimes wasn't supposed to live.

As the Moirai, Clothos spun the silvery thread of life, her sister, Lachesis decided its length. Thirty-seven years would pass before their third sister, Atropos would cut the thread and end his connection with the mortal world.

It was a tradition as old as time, a right granted to the sisters by the gods themselves, and a role they served happily for many millenia without incident.

No personal feeling was involved in the decisions the sisters made.

Necessity, alone, drove them.

Atropos chose the manner of Rick's death. She felt it a good death, a just one. Dying while serving and protecting the bacterium that walked the planet seemed fitting for a man such as him.

She stood a few feet away and watched as the small projectile ripped into his side and spilled his blood all over the ground.

There was nothing — in her mind — that'd prevent that bullet from ending his life.

Well, nothing _mortal_ , anyway.

There was one immortal being who could intercede and decide whether Rick Grimes would succumb to his intended fate or not.

A being the Moirai held no sway over.

Death, after all, answered to no one.

She followed her own set of rules, reaping those on her list because their time was up, and not because anyone demanded it of her.

Many called her mercurial. Some believed her incapable of feeling pity or empathy. Others thought her cruel and contemptuous.

She acknowledged she was all those things. It was necessary she be those things.

She served the greatest purpose, after all.

Without her controlling death, there'd be no new life. Death also ferried the souls of the dead to where they belonged after their reaping. It was necessary for her and her reapers to guide them. Otherwise, those souls wandered aimlessly, creating confusion wherever they went, and upsetting both the mortal and immortal provinces.

She wasn't perfect, though. Some souls managed to evade her and her reapers. She shrugged it off, felt that a few vengeful spirits, lost souls, and undesirables were excusable.

Besides, those souls kept the paranormal hunters in business.

More than a few souls left to roam free required her to fill out an endless amount of paperwork to correct. Plus, it opened the possibility that the protozoans would figure out they weren't the only beings in existence.

And that just couldn't happen.

However, something happened after Atropos cut the thread binding Rick Grimes to the world of the living. Death came, as was customary, but she did not reap his soul.

No, she stood among the doctors and nurses working to save his life, pale hand stretched out towards his, but not forging that connection that would bring him to the other side.

Many wondered _why_.

They forgot Death _could_ show mercy.

Even though it was a largely infrequent occurrence.

One that required a significant event or deed to occur before she'd grant clemency.

Such as the spark that snapped between them soon as her hand hovered above his. Startled, she jerked back. _What was that_? she wondered as the parasites in white buzzed around her like a swarm of bees.

She inched her hand back towards his. Again, came that spark, bright as blue flame. For a moment, she felt...

 _Alive_.

...

Freya stood beside his hospital bed and listened to the machines making their _beep beep beeps._

She curled her fingers around his larger ones.

Sensations she never experienced before, and couldn't define, crashed over her in icy waves.

Her mind exploded with visions, each one shooting faster and brighter than a kaleidoscope across the back of her eyes.

 _Hot summer nights, cold beer, the mingling of naked limbs in a plaid blanket._

 _Laughter around a campfire, summer storms, little arms clinging tight._

 _Wind in the hair, sun on the face, fear, and agony._

They were his thoughts, his _memories_ , she realized as the sensations passed. Of the woman he took as wife, the boy who came to visit him earlier, and his final, conscious moments on the mortal sphere.

Freya felt something stir in her as she watched other events, other moments drift through his subconscious. Family, friends, private things nobody but he had a right to see.

She meant to turn away, to return to where everything was ordered and simple, and send another reaper to lead Rick across the threshold.

She found she couldn't.

Invisible bands held her tight. She couldn't move. Couldn't turn away. Couldn't stop herself from seeing all the moments that mattered to the man lying unconscious in this hospital bed.

 _Walking hand-in-hand with the little boy down a dirt road._

 _Falling asleep with him on a couch._

 _Following behind him as he clumsily rode a bicycle_.

Footsteps echoed in the hall. Hospitals were noisy, bustling hives of activity. Freya found irony in how the protozoan came to hospitals to get well from whatever their ailments but tended to succumb to other sicknesses they contracted while here.

 _The Moirai are mercurial creatures_ , she thought as she waited for the person outside to pass by. However, these footsteps stopped outside the door. She turned as a dark-haired man entered, arms loaded with an assortment of flowers and a tired expression on his tanned face.

Her lips pursed at having her private time intruded on. However, she decided to ignore this man — _Shane_ , she recalled his name being — as he was inconsequential.

Unimportant.

A speck of dirt on a tiny planet in a solar system still in its infancy.

His time on Earth would come to an end soon enough. She had already assigned his reaping to one of her most trusted reapers.

All that mattered to her was Rick.

Freya controlled the natural order. Upsetting that balance would send the world into chaos. Change one thing and it could cause a thousand other events — all increasingly more terrible than the last — to occur.

However, on this particular day, she chose to do what nobody anticipated.

She ignored her sworn and sacred oath.

She defied all logic and reason.

She decided to recast destiny.

She let Rick Grimes live.

Her father — who was Death before her — once told her how the human soul was a tangible piece of translucent membrane more valuable than any mortal could imagine.

 _"Mortal souls can be ripped from their husk, tortured to the point of fraying, but they will never break," Father said as they sat outside a hospital. "However, you must always remember that their souls are not rubber balls. They do not bounce if one plays with them. Souls can be damaged if one is not careful. Always remember that, Freya."_

Rick's soul was strong.

 _This world needs a man like him_ , she decided as the parasite urged Rick to wake up. His voice grated on her nerves. _If only I could reap him instead_...

The temptation was so strong she reached for her scythe. A voice stopped her before her fingers closed around the smooth handle.

"Freya, what are you doing?"

She didn't bother to look. She already knew the speaker was her most trusted reaper, Cassandra.

"I am going to reap this man in Rick Grimes place."

"Freya, no." Cassandra moved to stand beside her. "You know you cannot do that."

"I am Death. I can do whatever I want."

"No, not this you can't." She set a hand on her shoulder. "The mortal's time is up. Take him. Otherwise, you will disrupt the natural order."

"Perhaps the natural order needs to be disrupted."

Cassandra let out a tiny gasp. "You don't mean that."

Freya looked at her longtime friend and aide. "But I do, Cassandra."

"Freya..."

"Rick Grimes is going to live," she insisted. "And that is all there is to it."

...

The natural balance got thrown out-of-order the moment Freya refused to reap the soul of Rick Grimes. The world of the bacterium plunged into chaos. Anarchy reigned in Heaven as the pantheon of gods called for action. "Death," they thundered, "must be made to set things right."

Freya refused.

"He will live," she proclaimed to one and all without fear of consequence. "And that is final."

Her rebellion spread to the darkest parts. The foulest and wickedest saw it as the perfect opportunity to get their vengeance on Heaven and take control for themselves.

Thousands became infected with the dark curse they weaved.

Hospitals quickly became overrun with protozoans of all shapes and sizes.

Mortuaries, parking lots, and graveyards overflowed with their shrouded corpses.

Reapers, led by Cassandra tried to restore order but the number of husks that wandered the globe were more than they could handle. They needed Freya to use her scythe and set things right, but she ignored their pleas, focusing instead on the mortal man she chose to become the guardian of.

The protoplasms in charge sent in their armed forces to eliminate the undead, believing it'd stop the spread of the infection, but found they only made things much worse.

Civilization quickly fell.

Cars and houses were left abandoned.

Entire cities and towns became ghost towns.

Yet, amidst all the chaos, the unthinkable happened.

Rick Grimes opened his eyes.

...

She only turned her back for a second. Yet it was long enough for her to discover that being a guardian angel was no easy task. _Or maybe_ , she reasoned as she followed Rick through the hospital, _it is just my human is more difficult than others._

From what she knew of the protozoan race, they were a troublesome lot in general. _They have been ever since their ancestors wandered out of the forest_.

Were all humans as difficult to guard? She couldn't be sure. She knew no other guardian angels well enough to ask them if their mortals were as trying as hers. _How did he manage to move so fast_? she found herself wondering as he paused in front of a set of doors with the words, **Don't Dead Open Inside** spray-painted across them.

He jerked back as blackened fingers extended through a tiny crack in the metal doors.

Freya shook her head. If he was going to survive the apocalypse her saving him caused, then he'd need to adapt. _And quickly_.

Finally, he continued to wind his way through the hospital's labyrinthine corridors towards whatever his destination was.

She presumed it was the exit.

Freya moved ahead of him, reaping the undead, as well as making sure there were no other threats waiting that could cause him harm.

Moments later they were standing in the parking lot where the dozens of bodies encased in the sheets they died in were laid out. Rick let out a hoarse cry as he stood staring at the piles of bodies left there to rot in the hot sun.

Freya reached out to set a hand on his shoulder, but he continued on his way before she made contact. She followed him, frazzled and confused, not knowing where he was going or why.

 _Are all these mortals this much of a nuisance_? she again wondered. _Or is it just mine_?

She really wished she knew.

Freya sensed a group of infected coming their way and moved to intercept them. That momentary distraction caused her to lose Rick. She found him minutes later curled up in a ball on the floor of a house, shaking from exhaustion, and sobbing with fear and grief. _The woman and boy_ , she realized as she knelt by his side. _He doesn't know they're alive. I should_...

"Reap him," Cassandra said as she appeared at her side. "You know it is the only way to restore the balance."

"He lives, Cassandra," was her brusque reply. "And that's final."

"Then you damn them all."

...

Rick's quest to find his wife and son was, to Freya's way of thinking, a long and unnecessarily arduous one. After parting ways with a man named Morgan and his son, Duane, he headed towards the city of Atlanta.

Of course, she tried to subtly nudge him to where his wife and son were staying with a handful of other parasites, but he either ignored the clues she left him or was completely oblivious to them.

Freya suspected it was the latter.

Her mortal, she quickly discovered, lacked much in the way of spiritual faith.

So, she sat in the moving box beside him, watching the world go by at an obnoxiously slow rate, and questioning again her decision to become his guardian angel.

Was one mortal's life worth all the chaos and confusion she caused?

The only answer that came back as she stared at him was: _yes_.

They encountered a little girl at a gas station a short time later. Her robe flapped around her dirty legs. A torn and stained teddy bear drug the ground behind her. The _schit, schit_ of her bunny slippers against the asphalt was loud to even Freya's ears. Rick called out to her as she shuffled by the car he had been checking beneath.

"Little girl? I'm a police officer." He chanted the words over and over and over until he was almost hoarse. "Can you hear me? I'm a police officer. Little girl..."

Freya's heart ached for him. She had known from the moment the child rounded the side of the building what she was. Rick didn't. Whether that was blissful ignorance or denial, she didn't know.

He'd know the truth soon enough.

The child stopped and slowly turned to face him after much urging on Rick's part. Rick's eyes went wide as he finally saw her crimson-stained pajamas, the blood, bits of bone and flesh and drool dripping from her drooping mouth and staining the metal fixed to her teeth.

A primal hunger, much like that of a half-starved animal, burst to life in her eyes. Rick backed up a few steps, his hand going to the gun in his holster even as she started to growl and move towards him in a jerky, swaying motion. her small fingers curved into gore encrusted talons and her slack mouth making clacking motions.

Freya went to intervene, her only thought to save Rick from this child monster, but he lifted the revolver from the holster and muttered, "I'm sorry," in a thick voice before pulling the trigger.

Taking a life came with a heavy cost.

Rick's was a piece of his soul.

One he'd never get back.

...

Guilt, shock, fear, and anger were stamped on the dark-haired woman's face. A search of her surface thoughts revealed the cause.

 _Moist earth caught them as they tumble to the ground, their soft sighs becoming longer and more drawn out. Clothing is scattered as limbs intertwine. A few inches away a gold ring sits, forgotten..._

Fury pulsed within Freya. _How dare she_! she raged silently. _How dare she betray Rick by laying with that filthy protozoa_! The only thing that kept her from reaping the woman was Rick's joy at being reunited with her and his son.

Still, she found herself tempted. Why shouldn't she reap this woman, after all? Wouldn't it spare him the pain he'd endure once he discovered her perfidy?

"She believed him dead," Cassandra announced as she joined her at the edge of the woods. "Their vows no longer mattered."

"They did not matter because she did not love him."

"And you do?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Cassandra."

"Why do you think you have abandoned everything that you stand for, Freya?" Cassandra waved to where Rick was standing and conversing with the man who cuckolded him. "Why do you think it is that you cannot reap him? It is because you have allowed yourself to fall in love with him."

She shifted towards her longtime friend. "And what if I do love him? Is that so terrible?"

"No, it's not terrible." Cassandra's voice was soft with sympathy. "But it makes what you have to do more difficult."

"I will not reap him, Cassandra."

"One day, Freya, you will." She set a hand on her shoulder. "You won't have any other choice."

...

Being a guardian angel was even more exhausting than reaping. She thought things would become easier once Rick found his wife and son.

They were anything but.

Some of the undead found the group not long after Rick's arrival. They attacked with mindless determination, their intention one thing and one thing alone: to feast. Freya went to help but the protozoans surprised her by managing to stop the undead before more of their numbers ended up reaped.

Her surprise at their ability to defend and protect themselves was short-lived, however.

Their decision to return to Atlanta and to take refuge in a place called the _CDC_ turned into a horrible mistake. If she had not interceded and convinced the man holding them hostage to let them go, it'd likely have become their tomb.

A highway full of undead became the next hurdle. Again, Freya intervened, leading the stinking, rotting masses away before more than one microscopic amoeba found themselves injured.

She would also intercede when a bullet meant for a deer pierced the flesh of Carl Grimes. Her cry mingled with Rick's anguished one as the small boy slowly slumped to the ground.

"Freya, you cannot interfere," she heard Cassandra say. "You must let me restore the balance by reaping the son for the father."

 _To hell with the balance_ , she decided as Rick scooped his son up into his arms and started to run with him.

The son of Rick Grimes would _not_ die in his place.

She wouldn't allow it.

...

The first part of the repercussions of allowing Carl Grimes to live came in the form of that bacterium who barricaded Rick inside his hospital room. A confrontation had been building for weeks between the two men. Freya could easily have reaped the man but something inside her urged her to trust and believe in her charge. If Rick's soul was as strong as she thought it, then he'd handle his former friend on his own.

He did an admirable job at defending himself during the few scuffles the two had.

Rick wasn't impervious, though. And he had Heaven aligned against him. So, Freya decided to add an insurance policy of her own to make sure that Rick would survive the final confrontation between him and that annoying parasite.

Her agent?

Rick's own son.

"Hello, Carl."

"Who are you?" he asked as she took a seat beside him. "Are you a friend of the Greene's?"

"No, I'm not a friend of the proto— Greene's," she corrected quickly. "My name is Freya."

"Freya?" His mouth inched up into a smile. "That's a neat name."

"It is the name that people call me when they don't call me by my other name."

"You have another name?"

"Oh, yes."

"What is it?"

"It's not important," she said, smiling to soften her brusqueness. "What is important is what I am here to tell you."

Interest flickered in the depths of his eyes.

"You have something to tell me?"

"I have a secret," she said, dropping her voice an octave. "One that must remain between us."

"What is it?"

"You are going to become a hero tonight."

"I am? How?"

"You are going to protect your father from someone who means to cause him great harm."

"Someone means to harm my dad?" Fear swept across the boy's face. "Who?"

"I cannot tell you that." She reached out and set a hand on his shoulder. "You will know him when you see him, though. And you will kill him to protect your father."

"But my dad told me that we can't kill the living..."

"He won't be one of the living." She squeezed his shoulder. "He will be one of the infected."

He was silent for a moment. "You won't be there, will you?"

"I'll be there, Carl," she assured him. "You just won't be able to see me."

"Why not?"

"Because I will reap this man once he is dead."

"You're an angel, aren't you?"

His intuitiveness impressed her. Many of the bacteria thought themselves clever. Most were not. However, this little boy proved not all the human race were hapless monkeys.

"I am, yes," she told him with a nod. "I am the Angel of Death, in fact."

He digested that information silently. Then his lips crooked upwards into a shy smile. "I thought Death was just a buncha moldy ole bones in a long robe?"

Freya chuckled softly. "My father preferred suits, actually."

"Death was your _father_?" His mouth dropped open as he gaped at her. "Whoa..."

"Would you like me to tell you about him?"

He nodded his head excitedly. "Please?"

And so, she spent an enjoyable afternoon, telling him stories about her youth before sending him off to fulfill his destiny.

...

Freya thought subverting Heaven's plan by using Carl would put an end to things.

She found herself greatly mistaken.

Heaven rallied their forces and tried, again and again, to push her into reaping Rick.

They started by sending a swarm of undead to attack the farm after Carl ended the life of the betrayer.

They failed as the humans defended themselves admirably. Freya stayed behind to reap those killed in the melee.

Other attacks would follow in the months to come. All of them handled to the best of the protozoans limited capabilities.

The only time Freya intervened was when a group of infected got released inside the walls of the prison. Even then, her involvement was limited to saving the unborn child of Rick's wife. Despite all the woman had done to Rick — sleeping with his best friend, playing the two against each other, pushing Rick into doing things and then punishing him when he did them — she was still Carl's mother. For that reason, and that reason alone, she spared her child.

The girl would give Rick hope.

Something to fight for.

To hold onto when times got tough.

"Freya, you only make things worse by sparing lives you know you shouldn't."

She glanced over to where Cassandra stood, waiting, she knew to reap the dying woman.

"What harm is there in saving a child who has not known life?"

"You know the consequences," her friend said somberly. "Change one thing and you risk throwing the balance into chaos."

"The world already is out of balance," Freya replied as she rose to follow Carl and the woman carrying the newborn child from the area. "What more can sparing this child's life cause?"

...

What more indeed? Sparing the girl child — _Judith_ , she corrected silently. _They chose to name the child Judith —_ caused a repercussion she hadn't counted on. The loss of his wife broke something inside Rick. For hours after her death he sat in the basement where she died, staring at the bloody stain left on the floor, saying not a word to anyone.

Freya sat beside him, confused by his emotional response, and worried that her decision to not save his wife caused a part of his soul to fracture. Was her decision to not save Lori wrong? Should she have swallowed her ire over the woman's treatment of Rick and spared her?

No, it was her time, she decided as she stretched out a hand towards Rick. Almost touching him but not. Lori's name was on the list. It was her time. Things took a darker turn when Rick suddenly answered a telephone that did not work and spoke to his dead wife.

A chill snaked through Freya as she realized how perilously close to the edge he was. She needed to do something if she didn't want to see him reaped by one of the reapers lurking outside the prison's walls. She needed to find a way to speak with him, to urge him to pull himself back together for the benefit of his son and daughter, but she wasn't sure how to do it that wouldn't complicate things more.

 _I could just reveal myself to him_ , she reasoned as she watched him place the phone receiver to his forehead with a soft sigh. She dismissed that idea quickly. If she appeared to him suddenly it could cause even further harm.

However, she _could_ speak to him in the same way he thought he spoke to his wife. Excitement shot through her as she stretched a hand to the phone. Less than a second later it rang, the shrill sound bouncing off the walls, and Freya's nerves. Rick grabbed it like a desperate

"Lori? Is that you?"

"No, Rick," she said gently. "My name is not Lori. It's Freya."

"Freya?" A frown puckered his brow. "I, uh... why are you calling me?"

"You need to let go, Rick."

"No..." The pain in his voice hurt her to hear. "No, I—"

"You need to accept Lori is gone." She hated hurting him but she had no choice. "You need to..."

"No, I can't," he said hoarsely. "I—"

"Your children need you," she said firmly. "So, live for them, Rick. Live for them."

...

Some of the things that happened, Freya was forced to admit, Rick caused. Whether it was ego, temper or a misguided attempt to protect those in his care didn't matter.

The wars with the protoplasm who believed himself the Governor, the perverted bacterium that named themselves the Claimers, the cannibals at a place called Terminus, the protozoan in this Grady hospital, even what happened with the foul-mouthed parasite with the baseball bat... it all happened because of choices Rick — as well as those following him — made.

Freya started to wonder if his choices were not somehow a reflection of her own. _Was it possible_ , she wondered as she drew a blanket over the slumbering toddler, _that Rick lost sight of the moralistic man he once was because he wasn't supposed to be alive_?

"You know that is the reason," Cassandra said. "You know that everything that has happened has been because of your refusal to reap him."

"Is a good man not worth fighting for? We believed once they were." Freya turned to her. "We honored men like him."

"Then honor him, Freya," Cassandra urged. "Honor him by setting the balance back to right. Make sure that those he cares for won't be made to pay for your refusal to do what you should."

"No."

"Then more will pay."

...

Not all were damned for her refusal to do what Heaven wanted.

Only Rick was.

He was damned the moment his son was bitten by one of the infected.

Freya learned of Carl's fate before Rick did. They returned to the Alexandrian SafeZone as the prokaryotic microorganisms set it on fire. She swept ahead of Rick, reaping those in her path as she searched the burning wreckage for Carl and Judith.

She found the boy down in the sewer. He was sitting beside the ladder, wheezing softly, and smelling like smoke, sweat and approaching death.

Freya knew he was doomed as she sunk to her knees beside him.

"You are infected." She held a hand up. "Don't deny it, I can tell."

"You can't save me," he mouthed quietly. "Not this time."

"Yes, I can." She set a hand on his. "I am Death. I can do whatever I want."

"No, Freya." He shook his head. "You have to let me go."

"Why?" she demanded. "Why do I have to let you go?"

"Because it's the only way."

"The only way to do what?"

"Save my dad."

"No." She shook her head. "You dying will only cause your father unimaginable pain and misery."

"That's why you have to do one thing."

"What?"

"You have to reap him."

"No." Shock made her voice thin and reedy. "No, I won't. I—"

"The only way to save Judith is by reaping me and my dad."

"No," she said again. "I won't. I refuse. I—"

"Judith has to survive." She stared at him. For one long moment, she could do nothing but stare at him. And saw the resolute determination in his eye. "No matter what, she has to survive. She will be the one to beat this world. She's the future."

"No..."

"Promise me, Freya."

"Carl..."

"Promise me that you will reap my dad when the time comes." His fingers tightened on hers. "Promise me that you will restore the natural order."

There was a tug. Grief. Sorrow. Acceptance.

"I promise," she whispered finally. "I will reap your father when the time comes."

...

Carl's reaping restored a portion of the balance to the world.

The war between the aerobic microorganisms ended.

Peace ensued.

Communities again flourished.

New life entered the world.

Freya watched it all from the sidelines, knowing that soon she'd have to fulfill the promise she made. The moment came when a man plunged a knife deep into Rick's side during a skirmish between the communities. People raced to Rick's side, but it was too late.

The wound, much like the gunshot that should have claimed his life but didn't, was fatal.

Rick Grimes was going to die.

And there was nothing any of them could do to stop it.

Not this time.

This wasn't like the amusement park where he managed to not get bitten by the ravenous undead.

It wasn't like when he fought the undead to retrieve his hatchet for the parasite in the black leather jacket.

It wasn't like fighting the infected monster in the garbage heap in his underwear.

And it was wasn't like all the times where he covered himself in the blood of the damned and brazenly walked among them.

No, this time was the end.

"Hello, Rick," she said once he crossed into the thin gray veil that separated his world from hers. "It's good to finally meet you face-to-face."

A frown creased his brow. "Do I know you?"

"I spoke to you after the death of the har— your wife," she corrected. "I was the one who told you that you needed to live for your children."

"You were the voice on the other end of the phone in the prison."

"Correct."

"Who are you..." He frowned. "What are you?"

"I'm Freya."

"Freya?" The sound of her name spoken in his husky timbre sent warmth shooting through her. "Have we met before?"

"Not formally, no. Few ever meet Death this way." She moved closer to him. "It is not my style to meet those I am intended to reap personally."

"Why are you then?"

"Because I quit being Death and became your guardian angel years ago."

"Guardian angel... Death..." He shook his head. "Sorry, I'm not much of a..."

"Believer." She smiled. "I know. You always put your faith in your family, your friends, and your job."

"You heard what I said in that church?" His shocked stare amused her. "You were there?"

"I have heard every word you have ever spoken," she said, smiling. "From the moment you awoke in the hospital all the way until now."

His lips crooked upwards into a smile.

"And you didn't run away when you had the chance?"

"I had faith in you, Rick Grimes. I still do. That's why I am setting the natural order back to right. Because I believe that you can be of more service to me here than you will be among your kind."

"Service?" His frown returned. "Service, how?"

"I need someone to be for me what I once was for my father."

"UH, huh?" His head tilted slightly to the side. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Death needs a moral compass, Rick." She saw one of his eyebrows fork, a silent question, and went on to explain. "The virus, the deaths of your loved ones, you losing that morally righteous man you were... it all happened because of my moment of mercy."

He was silent as he digested her words.

"I wasn't supposed to survive, was I?"

"No," she said quietly. "You weren't."

"Yeah." He sighed. "Yeah, I, uh, sorta figured I wasn't. Not with everything that went on while I was Rick Van Winkle."

"Heaven has been very unhappy with me for choosing to not reap you."

"Pretty pissed off at you, huh?"

"And very spiteful for it." She held a hand out to him. "Come. It's time to go. _He's_ been impatiently awaiting your arrival."

"He?" He questioned as he slowly took her hand. "He who?"

She indicated a figure standing by a wood fence. "Him."

"Carl?" Emotions made him hoarse. He turned eyes rimmed red with unshed tears to her. "He's here?"

"He's been here the whole time." She smiled. "He's been pressuring me to do the right thing."

"And this will fix everything?" His fingers trembled against hers. "It will keep everyone safe?"

"Yes." She smoothed her thumb over the back of his fingers. "Judith will live to old age. I promise."

He nodded. "Then lets go."

Hand-in-hand, they walked to where Carl waited, a smile of welcome on his lips.

And the natural order was finally restored.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello all, and welcome! Hopefully, this finds you well!

This story is a bit of an AU. It explores the concept of the walker virus from a supernatural POV (paranormal, not the TV show though some elements are adapted from it), how and why it spread so fast, and how the only way to restore things to some order is by making the ultimate sacrifice.

The song from the beginning is Oh, Death by Jen Titus. Listen to it on YouTube here: : / /ScP5Nv-EhZI


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